I tried to stay on topic and think of something fascinating to write about celery. But…The Voice trumps celery no matter how good the recipe. It just does. A new season of The Voice just started in case you haven’t already heard. I’m catching up on the past two days of auditions as I type and so far I’m not impressed. #McKaylaMaroney
I have a funny story for you today. Sad, but funny. We were celebrating birthdays at work today. I was in charge of buying a cake. I decided it was a good idea to get an ice cream cake from Dairy Queen. The little party started at 12:30 and Dairy Queen does not open until noon. So, I decided to buy the cakes the night before. But they wouldn’t fit in my freezer, so I left them in my garage. It was only supposed to be in the 30′s, I thought it would be fine. You know where this is going, right? So, this morning I grabbed the cakes and put them in my car. Once I got to work I unpacked the cakes. Totally melted. Unsalvageable. I had to throw away 2 Dairy Queen blizzard cakes. That is like against the law or something, right? RIP cookie dough and peanut butter blizzard cakes. I’m sorry. I will never let that happen again.
Can I tell you a secret? I’ve never had biscuits and gravy. Never! Can I tell you another secret? I don’t think I ever will. Ever! Biscuits were not something I grew up eating (and certainly not biscuits and gravy) and they have never been a food I’ve craved. Unless of course they come in a tube, are quartered, doused in butter, sugar and cinnamon and baked into luscious monkey bread. THEN and only then do I like biscuits. Or so I thought.
I grew up in an Italian family. As Italians, we express our love through food. You will never come to one of our houses and leave hungry. Seriously, it has never happened. Growing up, it was normal to me to have big Sunday dinners with my extended family. There was always some kind of macaroni on the menu. And meatballs. And sausage. And neckbones. And garlic bread. And I could go on and on. This was my “normal.” It was a time for our family to spend time together over a nice meal. It never occurred to me that other kids didn’t go to their grandparents for dinner every Sunday. Those Sunday dinners taught me many things. Most importantly, that family is what matters most in the world.